


A Single Slice of the Sky

by PenelopeGrace



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/M, eros and psyche au, set in some random time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 11:18:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16973628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeGrace/pseuds/PenelopeGrace
Summary: The Queen Consort gaped at the oracle, tears spilling from her eyes. She choked, “What monster are you speaking of, Oracle?”“The one feared even by the gods.”Eros and Psyche AU.





	A Single Slice of the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siberia_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siberia_M/gifts).



> A/N: So. . . This is fairy tale AU and Tomione, which is written for Siberia_M. I hope it's a worthy Secret Santa gift. :) This is a retelling of "Eros and Psyche" and it isn't really Christmas-like (I admit I am not a fan of Xmas), but I will still sprinkle Christmas references throughout.
> 
> Forgive me if my writing is rough. It's been a while since I've rode this bike. :/

 

Eros and Psyche had a—

No.

There was once a kingdom called Fidia—

Right. But also wrong.

Lady Aphrodite, the goddess of love, was jealous of—

No, that's not how it goes either. Try again. And stop playing the damn harp, won't you?

But I can't help! It's part of me. It's in my very blood to play music, my lord. Let me try this. Hermione Granger, the young and only child, was a princess—

Better. But let's start from the beginning. The  _true_  beginning.

_*SSS*_

The fifth oldest being in creation, known as Eros to the mortals, was born twice. No other god had been born twice like him. Millions upon millions of years ago, barely a memory now, he was concepted and then born to Nyx, the night. But it was only a partial birth in which his essence was formed, and his power was love and desire. He formed out of blackness, a spark of life, in the land later known as Fidia. But until humans dominated the earth, Gaea and Nyx comforted him in presence in a strange, dark world.

Fidia was his sacred land. The land where eventually the Lady Aphrodite, who was occasionally known as Merope, gave birth to an adorable screaming baby with golden wings. It was Eros' physical form, quickly aging years by the minutes until he was a dark, tall youth of approximately twenty-five. His mind did not take to this form quickly, mixed with the combined essence of Lady Aphrodite and Lord Ares. His origin power was similar to Lady Aphrodite's, but it was not similar to Lord Ares'.

Ignorant of her son's identity as Eros for some moment, Aphrodite called him Tom, after his father. He, unlike his siblings like Phobos, took after Ares quite well. But Ares was quick to dismiss this son, composed of more love than war. He preferred his other children, more capable and  _useful_ on the battlefield.

Other than the occasional request from his mother or Zeus or Hera, he was left alone to do what he liked.

He was quite happy on his own, thank you very much. He lived in the sacred land of Fidia, his birthplace. He took to the sky with his gleaming golden wings with a bow and quiver slung over his back. It took centuries for him to perfect the arrows. The bronze arrow of indifference, the white arrow of agape, the black arrow of hatred, the blood-red arrow of mania, the sky-blue arrow of storge, the dark-blue arrow of philia, and last and most difficult to create, the golden arrow of eros.

The arrow of eros. The one arrow that takes a decade to build, forged from Eros' very essence. So powerful that a tiny scratch from the arrowhead would be enough to ruin a being, a soul, forevermore. Tom could count on one hand how many times he fired it. Three. Once for Apollo, or Severus as he was sometimes known. He shot the arrow of indifference for Daphne. Once for Zeus, on Hera's request. Zeus ended up begging Tom to shoot the arrow of indifference when he finally figured out what she had done to him.

And finally, the third time. Well, we're not there yet.

But I can say that the third time was a complete accident.

_*SSS*_

Humans, mortals. . .

Let me say something.

So commonly found, so widespread, so desperate. . . So selfish, actually. Kill one, smite one, and another would appear in its place. Quicker than a flash. They breed as quickly as bunnies, and they all look alike. Of course,  _some_  do end up being more infamous and memorable than others. But they are a rare few.

A group of mortals separated themselves from Athens. Generations past as they moved further and further north towards a mostly unoccupied land. They settled in Fidia, closely approaching Tom's mountain. They quickly populated the vibrant, fertile grounds of Fidia, calling themselves Fidians with a royal family to boot.

High above, nearly touching the clouds, Tom only watched in bemusement as the kingdom rose from seemingly nowhere like an opportunistic weed populating a carefully cultivated garden. Mistletoe parasitizing the trees of the forest. His garden, in fact. But he went on with his duties and mostly ignored the mortals in favor of creating a new dozen arrows of indifference. He fired them from his perch here and there. Once at the King of Sparta when approached by a lovely young girl with fluttering eyelashes and some other odd couples here and there. Slowly and quietly changing the world a single arrow at a time.

Mortals are so common.

But Tom forgot that they were also destructive and bloodthirsty, and destruction and war brought his father to Fidia. Fire ravaged half of the fertile lands, nymphs screamed in horror as thousands of trees were destroyed, and river gods and spirits cried at the ashes poisoning the life Fidia once had. The nymphs, the satyrs, the river gods prayed to Eros for assistance.

_Please. . . Save us._

_Mortal men ripped him apart. My son!_

_Help me find my sister. I don't know where she went. Soldiers were out all night, burning down the village. I. . . I fear the worst, my lord._

_I'm going to drown their boats, Eros. They will never breathe again._

_Punish them._

He heard them all. All the prayers. The grief, the rage, and the vengeance. He saw what was left of his once-beautiful birthplace. The rolling hills turned into flatlands, perfect for soldiers, who were favorites of Ares, to battle on. He was  _so_ tempted to turn his arrows on his own father to cause him to fall in love with a goat or something, but he remembered how devastated his mother would be. And he restrained himself.

Besides, it was not as if his father created the war. His father fed on warfare, but it was the mortals who ravaged his lands.

If anyone noticed Ares' god children falling in and out of love with a spinning dizziness and flightiness for the next two centuries, no one openly complained about Eros' arrows accurately finding their targets in his siblings' hearts.

But the mortals. . .

For the first time in generations since the first settlers had arrived, Tom took note of the royal family. A king, a queen. They both looked alike, Tom thought. They had a daughter, who was eleven years old. No other child. Since she was eight, the royal couple sought to marry her off to some foreign prince or king for more land, riches, or soldiers. Four kings, seven princes, three dukes, and several rich noblemen within Fidia offered their sons or themselves as husbands to the young girl.

The first prince to approach the young Princess Hermione was named Draco after her eleventh birthday. He was seventeen years old with hair so pale it looked like snow. At first, he was polite, kind, and enchanted by the young princess while her parents and his father observed with casual curiosity. It appeared to be a decent match. The Malfoys were rich in land, gold, and soldiers.

Plus, they seemed taken with each other.

Until. . .

His pale blue eyes grew dim, and he drew away from her side abruptly. The young princess made an unroyal sound of surprise, and her tutor forcibly restrained herself from scolding the girl in front of a potential suitor. Young girls do not make unladylike sounds. They are poised, perfect swans, the tutor silently thought. Nevertheless, she quietly reminded herself to remind Princess Hermione of her error later.

Prince Draco moved to whisper into the ear of his father, the Crown Prince Lucius. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, father. But I don't think Princess Hermione is for me. I believe I would like to visit Duchess Astoria again."

Overhearing the prince's words, the Queen Consort snapped her head to glare at the visiting prince.

This was only the first of the many suitors who Princess Hermione failed to ensnare.

If Eros was two bronze arrows lighter than before, no one but him noticed.

_*SSS*_

"Your hair is like a wild animal!" laughs a neighboring young prince. He was broad-shouldered with bulk muscles and gleaming bronze hair. He yanked at the fifteen-year-old princess, who was too quick for him to catch. Prince Cormac, the third son of a faraway kingdom over two hundred leagues away.

"Leave me alone," she hollered, completely forgetting her manners.

Eros ran his fingers over the string of his bow. His job was done, and the prince would never fall in love with the young princess of Fidia. Unlike before when he used to shoot arrows of indifference at suitors and their companions, he shot an arrow of hatred. Cocking his head to the side with curiosity, he watched as the prince seemed to glow as he continuously taunted the princess of her appearance.

Seething with barely contained rage, the princess spun back to face the offending prince and punched him in the face, forcing him to fall over himself. She screamed, "That is enough. I had enough of your rudeness, Prince Cormac. Leave me be!" She stomped off while the prince's manservant quickly pulled a napkin out of his pocket to staunch the nosebleed. The princess' ladies quickly lifted their skirts to follow the princess to her rooms.

Eros snorted, surprised to find himself delighted by the unexpected turn in events. He ran his hand over his golden bow and turned away from his perch.

_*SSS*_

Forty-seven suitors later, and the King and the Queen Consort were turning desperate and nervous as their princess grew older and older, past the age of when most girls marry. The Queen Consort herself was married to the King at the age of sixteen. Crown Princess Hermione, however, approached twenty-one years old.

It was not a good time to be in Fidia. A decade earlier, the lands of Fidia was destroyed by civil war when the King's Guards and Army clashed against. Fidia's agriculture suffered for years and still had not recovered to its prime.

They could not understand why not a single suitor would not approach her with an offer after all those gifts and offerings to Hera and Aphrodite. So they turned to the only option left.

Or rather, the Queen Consort did.

She knew the answer was held by the oracle at Delphi, the priestess of Apollo.

"We should stop letting the suitors see her," said the King. "As soon as they see her, they don't want her. A signed proposal and treaty is fine as well."

It took every bit of restraint the Queen Consort possessed to not fight back. Her bruised wrists didn't even flare with pain when she turned away.

It was a long journey for the Queen Consort, who chose to go alone and without her husband by her side. It took two weeks of quick traveling with a small group of the Queen's Guards to arrive at Delphi. There the Queen prepared herself for an audience with the esteemed oracle, nerves sparkling up and down her spine. Yet she held herself straight, determined to receive an answer once and forever.

The young oracle was perhaps only twelve years old, but her gaze saw the universe and the secrets it knew. Sitting cross-legged in front of a roaring fire, she simply said, "Ask what you seek, Your Majesty."

The Queen Consort sat across the flames and explained, "My daughter. My only child, Oracle of Delphi. She is nearing twenty-one years of age, fair in appearance, yet unable to garner a single proposal from over fifty suitors. I want to know who her suitor is."

The bright orange flames changed to a burning blue-gold. Gazing deep in the fire, the oracle opened her mouth and foretold:

_A wicked, winged monster_

_has been chosen for her._

_Fated for your daughter,_

_for years, he has watched her._

_Leave her on the footsteps_

_of Fidia's highest peak._

_War causes all regrets,_

_and love is what she'll seeks._

The Queen Consort gaped at the oracle, tears spilling from her eyes. She choked, "What monster are you speaking of, Oracle?"

"The one feared even by the gods."

It took a month for the Queen Consort to return to Fidia, heavy with the weight of fate.

_*SSS*_

Tom stared at the golden arrow. The Arrow of Eros. He had only used this arrow twice. It took a decade to perfect, each arrow not quite the same as the one before it. But perfect and pure in its own way.

This one is for Princess Hermione.

He picked it up from his stone table with careful fingers. Jumping out of his workshop's window, he flew up to his perch and readied his bow. He found the princess easily, familiar with her activities. Right now, she slept peacefully in the library, her face barely visible between the pages of the book she was actively drooling in.

He didn't need to hit her heart. He needed a single scratch, and she would fall desperately, completely in love with the being of his choice. Perhaps a goat? Or a servant boy. And he'll shoot the other with the arrow of hatred, so she will destroy her own kingdom, blinded by her love.

The mortals will destroy each other. He will bring in plague and sickness and armies to cleanse Fidia of mortal filth. Then Fidia would return to its former glory, deprived of war, conflict, and discord.

He pulled back the golden arrow and breathed. Aimed it at the sleeping princess. This was the beginning of his very long revenge against the mortals living in his sacred birthplace. This was it.

At the very moment he released the string, he heard a quiet footstep. Then he felt a stab in the tip of his index finger as he was suddenly shoved in the arms by a soft, perfumed body. In that moment he saw the sleeping princess, he felt golden dust gathered in the wound caused by the arrowhead of Eros but all he saw was  _her_. And in that same moment, he

_h a r d_

_*SSS*_

He didn't understand how he had injured himself. He shot hundreds of thousands of arrows, but the one where he cared about the most was the one where he fell. He briefly followed the trajectory of the golden arrow, spiraling far away from the Fidian Princess and sailing into the heart of an oblivious nymph wooed by a nearby river god.

Then he turned to the woman who sent his arrow out of his control. She shook her head at her son, and Aphrodite said, "I heard you have been causing all this trouble, Tom."

"Mother. That was my only arrow."

She nodded, her dark hair pushing behind her shoulders. "I'm very aware of that. The golden arrow of Eros, the one that creates love and pleasure. The third of its kind. A decade in the making, my son."

He did not like where this may be going. He did not like that she interfered with his business. And most of all, he knew that when Aphrodite comes, she  _always_ wants something.

So what was it now?

"The princess."

He froze, thoughts and images spinning across his mind faster than he could ever perceive. There was such a mixture of confusion and hate and worst of all,  _desire_  that he felt almost as if he wanted to sleep for eons and never wake up once more. But despite that, he never wanted to stop living.

So he endured. And refused to think of the princess, of her softness, of her wild hair, of her stinging slap against that one random suitor who was shot with the arrow of hatred, of her love for books, of her thirst for knowledge, of her un-princess-like behavior, of what it would be like to  _touch_ —

Stop, stop, stop.

Can't think about that.

His mother lifted up his left hand, turning it over to see the scratch left by the arrowhead. Gold dust surrounded the open wound, and she said, "You were looking at the princess when the arrow made this cut on you."

"Don't remind me," he hissed.

"You're in love with her."

"I'm not in love!" he protested furiously, pulling away his hand from his mother's grip. "This is a mistake. I am not in love with her. I am not in love with anyone! I'll fix this!"

"Fixing this? By stabbing yourself full of arrows of indifference? Of hatred? You forgot your power. Those arrows can't change what has happened. An arrow of love has hurt you." She shook her head at Tom, her dark eyes softly gleaming. "What has happened to you, Eros? You are more of Ares than of love."

"Mortals," he answered with a scowl.

"No," she disagreed, dismissing his answer completely. "They had been on your lands for centuries, and you barely cared. It's not them but rather. . ." A dainty hand touched his chin. "You have been taking more power from prayers than before."

"So?"

"Your father's essence is stronger than before," she only said. "Perhaps, this situation is not as bad as you believe, Eros. It wouldn't be a bad thing to reconnect yourself to love."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not listening."

"I swear on the River Styx that I will make sure you do not destroy yourself over an arrow." Thunder boomed in the bright afternoon sky.

Shivers crawled up his spine. It was the most serious vow an immortal could make. "What are you doing?"

"Protecting my son from his stubbornness."

_*SSS*_

Crown Princess Hermione of Fidia was never particularly close in relations to her parents. Instead, her longest companions were the beloved books in the vast libraries. No one ever stayed very long. None of her ladies-in-waiting were close to her, but she found friendship in words. None of her suitors wanted her, but she was very much fine with that. She didn't like idea of marriage from what she saw of her parents. If she could avoid that fate, she would be completely alright. If only. . .

If only Fidia did not suffer the consequences of their last war. . .

If only she was as bold as her father. . .

If only she was born a boy. . .

Then maybe everyone else would accept this fate for her.

Almost three weeks after her twenty-first birthday, her mother came back from Delphi with gloomy eyes and a broken heart. She recited the prophecy, but Hermione could only focus on selected words.

_Wicked_

_Monster_

_War_

_Love_

And worst of all, the oracle's final parting words.

_The one feared even by the gods._

The King's maid packed away a few of Hermione's trunks and books. Then with the presence of the King's Guards, the King left his only child at the foot of the highest mountain in Fidia after overseeing an awkward marriage officiant marry her off to some unknown suitor and then bestowing her a hug she barely noticed.

A strong wind somehow blew her upwards, and she was blinded, gasping for breath. When her sight was restored, she stood high above the world at a perch made of marble in a castle of the sky.

Her mouth fell open, and for a second, she wondered if she was lost in her daydream or died between the pages of a good book. A gentle finger prodded her bare elbow, and she jumped, turning to find nobody there.

"Hello?"

"Hello," replied a baritone voice. He was perhaps a good few feet away from her, yet Hermione only saw pretty paintings hung on a marble wall.

"Who. . . Who are you?"

"I'm your husband, Hermione."

She blinked. Right. The marriage officiant at the bottom of the mountain. She's. . . Married? She shook her thought away, drawing back to her tutor's lessons. "What is your name?"

"Tom."

_*SSS*_

She avoided him for a week or so, hiding away in her rooms when she heard his voice. Of course, there was  _no_ way of hiding from a husband who was capable of being invisible. For all she knew, he could be sleeping in the same bed as her and she would not know a thing at all.

But then she felt a little braver and realized that it wouldn't matter if she was out or in her rooms when the monster decided to eat her. Feared by the gods. She shivered, wondering what monster could ever cause  _the gods_ to fear it.

She found that there were servants of differing voices, and they guided her along to the empty dining room. If he was there, she did not know, but she ate nonetheless. She found a grand library in her second week there and spent the night sleeping over the table while perusing through a scroll about value of stones. The next morning, she found a stack of books picked out, which were all similar to her favorites back in her home near the doorway. She looked closer, and she saw a few that were her favorites indeed.

It was him.

She knew. Who else had watched her? Who else  _would_ watch her?

In a marriage, her mother would tell her to do whatever her future husband says and to stay on his good side. Her father. . . Well, he always told her to be strong and to face whatever problems ahead with dignity and poise.

The problem with any of this was that her husband never talked. Well, he tried, but she never listened and avoided him. And did she really want to spend the rest of her life like this?

Nope.

"Tom?" she called out nervously.

There was a knock at the open window, and she jumped, startled. No one visible was there, but she knew it was him.

"Thank you. For the books."

"You're welcome."

Facing away from the window, she smiled. Perhaps he was not as bad as the oracle believed him to be.

_*SSS*_

He was a particular one, she thought. But he left her alone mostly, and she could always tell by his footsteps when it was him who led her to the greenhouse and showed her new places and sections of her home.

But he never spoke on his own accord, a violent contrast to the vibrant voices of his invisible servants.

She learned to hear the way he walked. The way his footsteps were sometimes heavy, as if tired. The way his footsteps, the way his sandals slap themselves against the marble floors, sounded when he was moving gracefully past her. The light, fresh smell of paper when he was near. She sensed the air movement before he walked into the room. . .

And later, he didn't need to speak at all for her to know he was there.

She just needed to  _notice_.

_*SSS*_

The perch became her favorite spot, and she suspected it was his as well. But she never asked and he never volunteered any information until he was asked. It was strange, the complete opposite of her father, a man who would loosen his tongue easily under the pressure of hard drink.

Birds flew past the perch, and she openly wondered, "I have never seen those birds before. Only in pictures. Zeus' eagles. In Fidia, all I ever saw were white doves. You push into their comfort zone, and then they fly away to freedom. If I had wings, I think I'll like to climb to the sky. Far away from Fidia, to a whole new world. Just like in the books. I have always been left wondering since I was child, you see. I just. . . What would it be like to fly?"

"I. . ." He stood a little beside her, a good distance away.

"You could fly!" she remembered. "I felt your wings before." They were gentle, soft things, power thundering in each feather.

"Yes."

"Can. . . Can you show me?"

He softly said, "Hold out your hands."

He arranged them just so and then carefully grasped around her waist. Washing away her fears, he whispered, "I'll show you what it is like to fly." He jumped off the perch, and she could feel the force of his wings as they beat the air and flew across the noon sky.

She let out shrieks of laughter as he glided here and there, never flying too close to the sun nor too near the earth. The wind brushed against her skin, and in that moment, locked in between his sculpted arms, she owned a single slice of the sky.

It was perfect.

_*SSS*_

A year and a half since she was left at the foot of Fidia's tallest mountain, she stood at the perch and looked down over what was once her kingdom. A sudden pang stabbed her heart, and without thinking, she called out for her husband.

"Yes?" he said, ever so quick to respond.

"Can I go home?"

_*SSS*_

She stood in a gentle green clearing outside of the castle's walls with half of the luggage she brought originally and the other half things her husband gave her over the months. The King's Guards were the first to see her and were quick to take her to the throne room. They recognized her immediately, some of them blinking as if they could not believe their sight.

She curtseyed to her father first, and she hesitated when she saw the badly hidden bruise on her mother's cheek. She recovered after a second and curtseyed to her mother, completely ignoring their noblemen.

"My daughter. . . Has returned home," said the King. "Let us prepare a feast!"

_*SSS*_

Her mother knocked on the doors of Hermione's old childhood rooms. Her rooms seemed so unfamiliar now with its juvenile pictures of boats and mountains and birds. This was no longer her room, and this place. . .

This place was no longer her home.

"Mother," she breathed, opening the door.

"Hermione," she whispered, grasping her daughter tight and letting out all the emotions she hid earlier today in front of all her subjects. "You're back!" She pulled away, her hands clutching Hermione's cheeks. "What happened? These past two years."

"A year and a half."

"Darling, it felt like a century to me." A pause. "How was. . . It?"

Hermione recognized that tone. The it.

Tom.

"He. . . Was kind."

"Kind?" She pulled back, blinking as if not expecting that answer. Her brown eyes widened impeccably. "Darling, tell me the truth. You don't need to lie at all to me. The oracle said he was a monster. A wicked monster. But if he was kind. . ." She let out a slow breath. "Then keep it that way, Hermione."

The former princess blinked.

What.

"It's better to be on his good side, Hermione," she rushed on. "Do whatever it takes to survive. Be complacent. Like how I am with your father. Don't fight on the little matters, but stand up when it really counts."

_*SSS*_

"Hermione!" Her father chugged down an entire glass of liquor, passed the glass to a nearby servant, and smiled at his only child. He wrapped an arm around his daughter and led her to his study room. "I have been wanting to talk to you since this morning!"

"Yes, father."

As soon as the oak door shut behind them, her father said, "I consulted the oracle at Delphi myself. The monster. . . He could be killed."

"He's not a monster!"

"Hermione, you fell into the trap that we foolishly sent you into two years ago! He's kind, he's nice, he doesn't harm you! But just wait. One day, he'll snap out of nowhere and hurt you so bad, he leaves you bleeding with nothing to your name! He has you caged!" Her father walked around his desk, spit flying as he raged through his speech. "Black eyes, a beaten body, broken arms, a monster baby in your stomach! Can't you see this, you foolish girl? You can end up like Pasiphaë with a minotaur son!"

Tears rolled down Hermione's eyes.

"The oracle says you have never actually  _seen_ him. How do you not know that he is a demonic monster from the deepest pits of Tartarus lusting for you?"

She stood frozen, unable to explain a single thing.

How could she defend her husband when she didn't understand a single bit of what or who he is?

Her father nodded at her silence, as if expecting this. He pulled out the topmost drawer to reveal a thick black cloth. A white candle, pale and thin, laid flat. It was ugly with a jagged body, made with imperfections as if the creator didn't care about its beauty but rather the function. "This candle was given to me by the oracle at Delphi. It will reveal whatever spell or veil he has over you." Then he lifted more of the cloth, revealing a sharp golden dagger. It seemed to gleam with its own light, golden in its rays. "This is made with the gods' metal. It will kill him instantly. Stab him, and he will die."

_*SSS*_

Tom, better known as Eros, was in love. Of course, he could not tell if it was from the arrow or actual, genuine feelings of his own, but it didn't matter anymore.

He loved her. He'll admit it freely. He loved the way she moved, he loved the way she laughed as they flew above the earth, he loved how she read to him in the warm afternoons, he loved the way she always knew where he was despite the constant invisibility spell, and he loved how she brought a certain steadiness to him. She anchored him, pulled him away from the whispers of men, the ones who called on Ares' sons and daughters for war.

She was once a caged bird, now freed, but he was ever so careful to approach her. Always careful in his movements, trying to not disturb her like how one attempts to pet a bird by gaining its trust first. Slowly and meticulously.

It always had to be her to make the first step towards him.

And this morning, the day she arrived back, she asked him to join her in her rooms tonight.

He could hardly wait.

_*SSS*_

Courage. Strength.

Be strong.

She laid on right side of her spacious bed, eyes boring into the darkness.

Him.

Monster.

Be complacent.

Minotaur.

Fear made her heart beat faster. The last two years might had been an elaborate scheme to gain her trust. How could she know something she could not see or understand?

Light snores floated to her side of the bed.

Now or never.

She got up from the bed.

She found the dagger and the candle in her hand.

The candle flickered to life on its own accord.

She ghosted over to his side of the bed.

Her hand lowered the candle.

Her chest froze as her eyes feasted on dark hair, smooth skin, and a strong jawline. He looked like what she imagined gods would look like.

She wondered why he never showed her his face.

Then a drop of wax slipped off the candle and burned his chest.

His eyes flew open.

_*SSS*_

He was tempted to unleash the plague.

His father, Ares, gave them as a present to Tom for his coming of age party. The plague arrows were part of the standard gift from Ares to his children, and as soon as Tom went home to Fidia, he chucked them in the corner of his woodshop and left it to gather dust for many centuries.

He wiped off the dust and the cobwells and tested the arrows' integrity.

They held strong.

He took aim at a few Fidians. The merchants, the shopkeepers, the butchers. The mortals capable of carrying and spreading the plague as far and wide as possible.

But he sighed and relaxed his bowstring.

Then he flew back down to his woodshop to toss the plague arrows back where it belong.

_*SSS*_

She wandered for ages, seeing so many places yet never quite enjoying the freedom. It wasn't freedom at all. She was banished from her true home, left in the middle of nowhere, and forced to keep  _moving_. She never lingered long in a single place, always searching for midnight-black hair and broad arms.

She was a fool to believe her father.

She was an idiot to not know what was in front of her all along.

_She loved him._

And she ruined it.

_*SSS*_

She found herself at a temple.

Aphrodite's.

Lost and alone, she approached the doors and went inside. She past the columns, noticed that the architecture was very pretty, yet did not care about any of it.

If there was a place that might give her answers, then Aphrodite was one to ask.

She threw the only food she had into the fire and stepped back, her stomach rumbling softly. It was sweet bread a passersby gave her absentmindedly. Hermione was thankful, regardless of the motives. And perhaps, the goddess of love would be kind enough to grant her better answers than the oracle of Delphi.

"Love problems?" questions a dark-haired woman in light red toga. Her appearance reminded Hermione of someone, but she couldn't figure out who it reminded her of. She smiled sweetly at the former princess. "Don't we all?"

"I feel mine is overly complicated and complicated yet simple, too."

"Love is madness," says the woman, pointing out words surrounding a rose carved into the floor. "But there are many kinds of love, you know. So what kind of love do you feel for him?"

Hermione moved around and around the rose, her eyes reading the words written in the ground. Philia, agape, ludus. . .

"Storge. Philia," she pointed out. "Eros."

"But not agape?"

"I don't think what I did was agape."

"We all make mistakes, young one," said the woman. "Love is sometimes confusing. But love is what it is. Love is love, and its nature is selfless. It's what you do with it that counts."

"I wished. . ." A pause. "I wished I knew him."

"The key to lasting love is always communication. What you and your young man did was fail to talk about something meaningful. You two were never on the same page. He understood much about you, but you didn't understand anything about him. Because he never talked to you until you asked, and he was afraid of scaring you away. You couldn't see that he felt the same damn way."

Hermione froze under the woman's powerful gaze. Her sharp green eyes glimmered.

"If Tom finds the will to forgive, then you must put your heart into this, Hermione." The woman melted into thin air, leaving behind a warm spray of rose perfume.

"Lady Aphrodite," Hermione breathed.

_*SSS*_

He held the dagger in his hand. He could recognize the design anywhere. Apollo's hunting dagger. The very one created out of Apollo's sun rays and Daphne's agape. The laurels, her laurels, decorated the hilt.

Agape before it turned to indifference by his own arrow.

From his perch, he threw the dagger down to earth.

Apollo and his games.

Apollo won in his revenge.

He lost her now.

_*SSS*_

"I told you to meet her, not this. . ." Aphrodite waved her hand about furiously, lacking words to describe the entire situation. "Madness!"

Eros stared at the blue sky.

"And you! I know she had some faults, but you!" The goddess of love stomped her feet. "You! You!  _You!_ I can't even describe this. I said meet her! Meet! Being invisible while being around her is not doing what I said!" She pointed her finger at her son. "I know you don't always do everything I say, but love is not always meant to be built blindly especially when Severus holds his meddling ways and his rage against you over Delphi and the mortals!"

"It was seven centuries ago when Daphne turned into a tree," he said flatly.

"Ah!" She tugged at her hair. "I'm losing every little bit of my beauty because of you. You and your stubborn pride! You think yourself as weak when you were struck by the arrow, but why can't you see that love is not a weakness? You were so deeply ashamed that you were in love with the princess that you tried to hide it even from the one you care about the most! So afraid that you were the one with all the weakness. And what do you do when she was doubting her love? You threw her out at her most vulnerable. Now, she's on her way to Hades because of you."

His head snapped up. "What? What do you mean by that?" His voice was low.

"She's vulnerable, Eros. She's mortal. She doesn't know how to survive among peasants. Yes, she broke your trust! But you sent her in a random part of the world with barely anyone around her and you don't give another thought of what she might be doing right now. Which is dying, by the way!" Aphrodite huffed. "I really wish that when you were born twice, Tom, your father wasn't Ares. I can see so much of him in you—"

"I'm not anything like him!"

She raised a brow. "I believe he said those exact words when I said he was acting like Zeus after he sent that stupid boar after Adonis. But we are getting off-topic." She breathed in. "The point is that war is like love, and love is a war. You must fight every day to keep it, and sometimes, a relationship will be strained. It's your choice to decide whether or not you want to break or mend it. But I can tell you this. When she's dead, there is no mending anything."

_*SSS*_

It was a really bad idea to cross the river. She thought she would be able to safely walk across to where a village is said to be. A chance where she could find her way back to Fidia to her childhood home to figure out what to do next. She sank her feet two feet under water and slowly began to move, shivering in her tattered clothes.

Then the currents pushed her over, washing her away.

So this is how I die, she thought. Drowned.

The river turned crimson, and her face emerged from the strange water. Dreamiy, she saw a hand reaching out for her. It was a boatman. Maybe he could save her.

She saw a golden shadow fly overhead. The boatman's hand was kicked away.

"Not this one, Charon," said a familiar voice.

She must be dreaming.

She gasped back to life hundreds of feet high above the world, and a familiar face gazed at her with concern.

"Hermione."

"Tom," she choked. He was here.

He was real.

"Tom. Or Eros." His wings flapped quickly, forcing them to gain attitude. "I have a long story to tell you."

"I'm listening."


End file.
